


It's Love - It's Not Santa Claus

by blithelybonny



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 25 Days of Draco & Harry, Advent 2014, Falling In Love, Humor, M/M, Pining, Romantic Comedy, Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-02-27 19:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 12,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2703413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blithelybonny/pseuds/blithelybonny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A romantic comedy, featuring Harry Potter as the traditional late-twenties-something who has all but given up on finding The One and Draco Malfoy as the Manic Pixie Dream Boy who doesn’t believe in True Love, but is probably going to find it all the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Forever Alone (Except, You Know, Not Really)

**Author's Note:**

> So I tried this last year for the [25 Days of Draco & Harry](http://slythindor100.livejournal.com/1062840.html) and made it through about twelve prompts. Here’s to trying this year! Chapter 1 of 25 - not epilogue compliant, and I’ll try to keep them as IC as possible while still playing with the tropes/characterizations of romantic comedies. :) Cheers all and happy holidays! Work title is a quote from 500 Days of Summer.

The only problem with the Pocket Floo that Anthony and Hermione had developed to the tune of five hundred-thousand Galleons was that it had made the Owl Post Office all but obsolete in the last few years. ( _All but_ , because the older generations were always going to resist technological development whenever possible.) But as far as Harry Potter was concerned, he didn’t need to go down the post office with Ron to see about the Wheezes’s Christmas mailer that was supposed to have gone out two weeks ago because there was a more than good chance no one was going to read the mailer anyway, and besides, didn’t Ron and George have a shopgirl whose job description required her to run these sorts of errands?

“Don’t start in with that shopgirl stuff, Harry,” Verity admonished him, as she continued sorting through receipts. “Ginny taught me that Bat-Bogey of hers, and I’m getting right good at it.”

“But it’s cold outside,” Harry replied. “And what if there’s a sudden rush?”

“Then any of the other five people who actually _work_ here can handle it,” Ron answered. He threw on his heavy wool cloak, a natty-looking thing that Hermione had gotten him for Christmas last year, which served to make him look even more professional and imposing than his tall frame and broad shoulders accomplished on their own. “Come on, Harry. It’s just down the street, for Merlin’s sake.”

“And how long has it been since you got any fresh air, hm?” Verity added, looking down her nose at him.

Harry frowned at that, decided that he neither asked for nor wanted her opinion on the subject of his recent social hermitism (as if there was anything wrong with staying in and avoiding human social contact due to his not-so-recent realization that for someone who had the ‘power the Dark Lord knew not,’ he sure as hell didn’t know how to use it to talk to girls) and, in a rush of stubbornness that he knew was just doing exactly what they all wanted him to do, threw on his own cloak and stomped out the door into Diagon proper. 

“I get plenty of fresh air,” he muttered to himself, and his sudden strop melted away at least a little when Ron laid a hand on his head and mussed his hair a bit. “And exercise too!”

“Sure you do, mate,” Ron replied.

Whatever else Harry might have wanted to say to his so-called best friend, who was supposed to support him in his right to hide away while he resigned himself to being forever alone, was swallowed up in the noise of Diagon Alley at holiday-time. Harry kept his head ducked to avoid stray autograph-seekers and hurried along at Ron’s side. When they reached the post office, it was, as Harry might have thought, fairly deserted.

Except of course for Draco Malfoy, who stood behind the counter, drumming his fingers to the beat of whatever song was playing on his WizPlayer.


	2. Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It...Oh No

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the blizzard is coming...the blizzard of _emotions_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco quotes Empire Records in this bit, and I do not own it.

Harry thought he should be more surprised, but the fact was that if he was ever going to run into someone from his past at a completely inopportune moment, it would be Malfoy. The post office bit was novel, he had to give that to fate, but all the same, it was inevitable that Malfoy would show up when Harry least expected or wanted him to do--not, he supposed, that he ever _wanted_ Malfoy to show up.

“Potty, Weasel,” Malfoy greeted, with a wave of his wand that canceled the charm playing the music only for his ears. Harry briefly heard a bit of what sounded like, but couldn’t possibly be The Beatles, before Malfoy canceled the WizPlayer charm entirely.

“Malfoy…” Ron said, warily. “I’m here to send off a mailer?”

“This late in the season? Nobody’s going to read it,” Malfoy replied--and Harry knew this was not going to end well. Then again, with Malfoy, did it ever?

Ron bristled and slid the parcel of letters across the countertop. “Just send them, you little--”

“--Potter, take a look at this, will you?” Malfoy interrupted, as he removed something from his pocket, enlarged it and handed it to Harry. “D’you think it needs a bit more of the snow at the top?”

Harry took the object unthinkingly, too surprised at being addressed by Malfoy in what sounded almost like a friendly way. “Oh, it’s...er,” he trailed off. He held a Muggle underground sign that had been covered with false snow. He ran his fingers across it to find that it was painted, a mixture of white, silver and gray that made it look glittery and real. “What is this?”

“I don’t feel the need to explain my art to you, Potter,” Malfoy replied snottily, but the smile on his lips belied his tone.

“Your art?” Harry asked, now more confused than before.

“My art,” Malfoy replied knowingly.

“I didn’t know you were an artist,” Harry said after a long moment of just staring and processing that information. He handed the underground sign back to Malfoy. “It’s, er, well, it’s nice?”

“Thanks, Potty. Kind of you to say.” He then shrunk the piece and slipped it into his pocket. “You know, you should come by my installation in a few weeks...if people think our great savior will be there, perhaps I can actually get some arses in the seats,” Malfoy said, as he gracefully swung his legs over the countertop, hopped down and headed for the door, to Harry’s confusion.

“Wait, what about my mailer!” Ron cried out.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and chuckled, as he put on the fur-lined cloak he’d summoned to hand. “Oh Weaselbee, as if I’d be caught dead working in a bleeding _post office_.”

“You don’t--”

“I don’t work here!” Malfoy interrupted, and as _I Wanna Hold Your Hand_ began again in earnest, he left the post office and started off down the street.

Harry turned to Ron. “That was weird, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Return to [Livejournal](http://slythindor100.livejournal.com/1070910.html)!


	3. I’ve Decked a Hall or Two in My Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 3 of 25 - in which there’s Hermione! Don’t we all love Hermione, though? There’s also Anthony Goldstein who is usually the baxter in these sorts of things...and is this time too.

“Hermione will know,” Harry insisted, as he tugged Ron through the throng. Lunchtime, he realized, was probably the absolute worst time to move through Diagon Alley since people were taking their lunch breaks to do their holiday shopping, but it was an absolutely necessary thing. If they were to get to the bottom of whatever the hell just happened, they would have to see Hermione and get into research mode. It was just their _way_.

Ron just groaned and yanked his arm from Harry’s grasp. “We’re not doing this. We’re not playing Round Four-Hundred of ‘Something’s Up with Malfoy’! I refuse!”

“But something _is_ up with Malfoy, and isn’t this what we do?” Harry countered, fixing Ron with his most imploring stare. “Besides, a mystery is exactly what I could use right now. You said it yourself, I need to get out more.” Never mind that Harry hadn’t agreed at all with that assessment until Malfoy showed up.

“There’s no mystery!” Ron cried, throwing his arms out in exasperation. “It’s just Malfoy being as weird as he always was.”

They had reached the GoldTech flagship store to find a line out the door, and Harry grinned. Even though Hermione had declined to put her name on the corporation, everyone knew that her sheer brilliance was the reason the start-up had been such a success after the war. And now, nine years on, it showed no sign of slowing down. Harry turned to look at Ron and saw his best friend beaming with pride as well. “Come on,” Harry added, before darting off to the secret side entrance that would bring them up to the corporate office on the top floor.

A young receptionist ushered Harry and Ron through to a conference room, where they found Hermione directing Anthony, as he attempted to levitate a massive pine wreath onto the wall.

“We need to talk about Malfoy,” Harry said, wasting no time. “He said he was an artist. Can you believe that?”

“And hello to you as well,” Hermione said, chuckling lightly. “Tony, I think just a bit more to the left and it’ll be perfect.”

“Right-o,” Anthony replied.

“Looks beautiful, ‘Mione,” Ron said, as he stepped forward to press a kiss to his wife’s temple.

“And to answer your question,” Hermione continued, giving Harry a pointed look, “of course I believe it. Who do you think made that?” She indicated the wreath.

Harry frowned. “Well, bugger me,” he said quietly.

“Any time,” Anthony then said, before chuckling brightly. “Joking! Hermione, I’ll see you in a bit for that call with the Japanese investors.” He gave Harry a bright smile on his way out the door.

“So that’s still a thing, huh?” Ron asked, a smirk playing at his lips.

Harry blushed. “Oh, shut it. We’re here to talk about Malfoy.”

“Round Four-Hundred,” Ron just said, rolling his eyes.

“Oh dear, not again,” Hermione replied. “All right, let’s hear it.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. Sometimes, he really loathed his best friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Return to [Livejournal](http://slythindor100.livejournal.com/1075959.html)!


	4. Last Christmas, I Gave You My Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 4 of 25 - in which there is Draco’s art studio because he is a real artist, Harry! Also, Dean Thomas! This is turning into such crack, you guys. <3

Since his so-called friends were more interested in teasing him than they were in helping him, despite the reminder that every time Harry had believed Malfoy to be up to something, he _was_ , Harry decided that the best course of action would be to forge ahead in his investigation alone. And that was how he found himself calling in sick to “work” the next day and grabbing a Portkey to Hogsmeade in search of Malfoy’s art studio (because apparently Malfoy had a damn _art studio_ and no one had seen fit to inform Harry of this extremely important information until now!)

The village was as charming as ever, even though Harry couldn’t remember when last he’d spent much time there, and he was brought very suddenly into a nostalgic frame of mind. A soft smile came to his lips, as he made his way carefully along the street, remembering the magic of going to Zonko’s and Honeydukes for the first time.

He was walking past the Hog’s Head, making a mental reminder to stop in on his way back and say hello to Aberforth when he bumped rather viciously into someone. “Oh, bloody hell, I’m so sorry!” he said quickly, reaching out to steady the other.

“No worries, Harry,” Dean Thomas said, as he re-shouldered the paper bag of supplies he’d been carrying.

“Dean!” Harry cried, a grin coming to his lips at seeing his old friend again. “It’s great to see you, mate. What are you doing here?”

Dean gave him a quizzical look in return, before pointing behind himself to a post-modern-looking building that seemed entirely out of place in the block of quaint, old shops. “I work here, remember?”

“Oh, right, right your studio…” Harry trailed off, a _lumos_ suddenly going off in his head. “Your _studio_! Your art studio!”

“Harry, are you all right?” Dean asked, taking the slightest step back.

Harry frowned at that, realized he was being more than a bit mad and then laughed at himself. “Sorry, I’m just…did you know Malfoy had an art studio here too?”

Dean rolled his eyes and hitched up the bag a little higher. “I am vaguely aware of that fact, yes.”

“Would you mind pointing it out to me? I have some, er, some business with him,” Harry replied, inwardly trying to contain his excitement.

Dean laughed at that. “Sure, Harry, follow me.” He then proceeded to walk into the building he’d indicated as his own.

Harry was beginning to feel that the universe was conspiring against him--or perhaps it was for him, seeing as Malfoy was suddenly at every turn.

Or in this case, Malfoy was covered in red and green paint and flopping around on a large white canvas in the middle of the gallery’s workspace. “You’re a few weeks early for the installation, Potter, although I suppose you’ve never been one for rule-following,” he called, as he carefully sat up.

It then became quite obvious that Malfoy was very much nude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Return to LJ](http://slythindor100.livejournal.com/1081867.html)!


	5. It's A Bit Nutty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 5 of 25 - in which Draco is still really weird, but maybe it’s not so bad, possibly? Harry has no idea.

Harry counted to ten in his head and studiously kept his eyes on Malfoy’s face and not his paint-covered nethers. “Malfoy,” he then said, “what are you doing?” The direct, Gryffindorish approach was always best, wasn’t it? (Maybe if he’d Gryffindor-approached Malfoy the last time he’d gotten up to something nefarious, things would have ended quite differently--but probably not...prophecies and all.)

Malfoy raised a hand to flick his blond fringe out of his eyes and mostly just succeeded in streaking green paint across his eyebrow. “You have eyes, Potter, what does it look like I’m doing?” he drawled, arrogant and annoying as ever.

And yet, Harry was suddenly and decidedly convinced that Malfoy had been replaced with a pod-person or possibly had a personality transplant in the years since last they had any extensive interaction because the Malfoy he knew wouldn’t have even wanted to get a bit dirty, let alone cover himself with paint. “I know what it looks like, but--”

“--then you know what it is,” Malfoy interrupted, as Dean walked by and tossed him a towel, which Malfoy had the decency to wrap around his waist.

Harry let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “I really, really don’t,” he responded.

“Do you like chestnuts, Potty?”

“What?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Chestnuts? You know, they roast them up with butter and nutmeg.”

Harry frowned, wondering just exactly where this was going and why he was feeling so utterly off-balance. “I think so? Hermione’s made them the last few Christmases--”

“--there’s a street vendor out there, and he makes the best chestnuts I’ve ever had,” Malfoy interrupted again. It was nice to see that some things about Malfoy, namely his rudeness, hadn’t changed. “Do you want to go get some?”

“Are you asking me out?” Harry asked, eyes widening.

“Well, we have to go outside to get them, so yes, I suppose technically.” Malfoy smirked then and let the towel around his waist fall a bit to expose his hipbones, the insouciant bastard. “Do you want to go out with me, Potty?” And somehow the “Potty” didn’t sound like an insult, but Harry supposed that had more to do with Malfoy’s charm than an actual lack of malice.

“Only if you put some bloody clothing on,” Harry then replied, averting his eyes again and trying to pretend that he wasn’t blushing furiously.

“Prude,” Malfoy responded and then tossed the towel at Harry, before sauntering off towards what Harry assumed was an office to change into his clothing again.

“Well, _that_ was interesting,” came Dean’s voice. Harry looked over to see his friend standing over Malfoy’s canvas.

“The painting?”

“No, the pair of you.” Dean turned to him, a question written on his face.

Harry shrugged and sighed, feeling more confused than he had in a very long time. “I have no idea what I’m doing here.”

“Most of us don’t, Harry,” Dean replied, smiling. “But Draco will tell you there’s nothing wrong with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Return to [Live Journal](http://slythindor100.livejournal.com/1086539.html)!


	6. Be Free, Eat Chestnuts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 6 of 25 - in which Harry and Draco go out and start a much-needed conversation on the epic weirdness that has been happening.

Walking along the streets of Hogsmeade with Malfoy was less disconcerting than Harry thought it would be. Malfoy was being obliging by offering snide comments about people, as well as going subdued when they passed the Broomsticks, but he perked up again when they reached a street vendor and purchased a bag of chestnuts to share.

“So ask me. I know you're dying to,” Malfoy said, as he pulled out a handful and began popping them one by one into his mouth.

Harry thought about pretending not to know what Malfoy was talking about, but then decided that direct seemed to be working much better than floundering. “Alright, what is all this, really? I don’t think I’ve even seen you in at least five years, and just…” Harry trailed off, uncertain. “What’s with you?”

Malfoy inhaled a lungful of cold, crisp winter air and exhaled deeply. “Do you know what it feels like to be totally and utterly free, Potter? Because I do. And it is the most amazing feeling in the world. Total and utter freedom...from people’s expectations, from responsibilities except to myself, from fear.” He grinned, wide and bright. “That’s what’s with me.”

Surprised by the seeming honesty in the answer, Harry said nothing, just considering. Certainly he was free too--he’d defeated Voldemort and fulfilled the prophecy all those years ago, so he didn’t have that hanging over his head anymore. And yet, a part of him had always felt at loose ends since then: not burdened, but not really free either.

“Did I lose you? Too many big words?” Malfoy drawled.

“Oh, shut up, Malfoy,” Harry responded, trying not to blush too obviously.

Malfoy chuckled and took the bag of chestnuts back. “Come on, let’s go back. I have to finish my nutcracker in time for the installation.”

“Nutcracker?”

“It’s this wooden mouse-thing with hinges that Muggles use to crack nuts. Can you imagine?” He shook his head in disbelief. “The things they invent to deal with the fact that they don’t have magic. Poor sods.”

It was Harry’s turn to shake his head in disbelief. “I think that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said about a Muggle.”

Malfoy shrugged at that. “In the months after the trials when I couldn’t use my wand, I realized that not having magic is absolutely awful. Muggles must just be miserable all the time,” he explained.

Harry had to smile softly at the naivety in it. “Mostly they don’t know what they’re missing.”

Malfoy hummed noncommittally. “I suppose you’d know,” he said. He grinned again, that genuine, bright smile that did something rather funny and unexpected to Harry’s insides. “Come back to the workshop, I’ll show you my nutcracker. You’ll love it.”

“Yeah,” Harry answered, biting down on his lower lip, “I’d like that.”

Malfoy smirked at him. “Oh Potty, do try not to fall in love with me, you great plebian.”

Harry rolled his eyes. That was much more the Malfoy he was familiar with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Return to [live journal](http://slythindor100.livejournal.com/1092037.html)!


	7. Their Squidgy Wet Noses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 7 of 25 - in which Harry and Draco continue to get honest, with a little help from literally the cutest dog on earth, and Draco shows that he may be free, but he’s still kind of a dick (thankfully). (Sorry I'm late a day! Ch. 8 is coming too.)

“Oh bugger it,” Malfoy exclaimed, as they reached the studio again. Harry looked down and saw an adorable golden lab puppy, sitting up and wagging its tail as they approached. It gave a happy little bark, and Harry was absolutely in love within seconds. “Shoo, you little beast! Be gone!” Malfoy continued, flapping his hand at the dog.

“Malfoy!” Harry interrupted. “Leave him alone! He’s just a baby.”

“He’s a bloody nuisance is what he is,” Malfoy pouted, as he slipped past the dog and walked into the workshop. “And what kind of a name is ‘Buddy’ for a dog anyway?”

Harry snickered. “Actually, it’s a pretty common one.” He glanced down at Buddy who had followed after Malfoy, obviously uncaring of Malfoy’s attitude toward it (as dogs were wont to be like). “And he looks like a Buddy. Who does he belong to?”

“Old Man Grimshaw next door. Ever since the litter came, he keeps trying to pawn this one off on us, but obviously an art studio is no place for a mangy mongr--arrrrgh!” Malfoy tripped over Buddy, who had been meandering around Malfoy’s feet, and sat down hard on the ground. “Damn thing’s always getting underfoot!”

Harry couldn’t help but burst out laughing when it was obvious that all that was wounded was Malfoy’s pride. “You never were any good with animals,” he said, as he took a seat on the ground as well. Buddy bounded over to him with an excited yip, and Harry gathered him into his lap for a pet.

“I am perfectly good with creatures, Potter. Respectable and useful ones, like owls or cats. Dogs are just...dirty.”

“So, you’ll roll around in paint and flop all over the ground, but _dogs_ are dirty?”

Malfoy raised a haughty eyebrow. “I’m a walking contradiction,” he sniffed.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Always have been...aw, go on, Malfoy, just give him a cuddle. Clearly he likes you!”

“You clearly like me, Potty, but that doesn’t mean I’m inclined to cuddle with you.”

Harry just just continued to pet Buddy, pretending that Malfoy’s words didn’t sting just a little bit. It wasn’t that he wanted to cuddle with Malfoy, of course, but, well...Harry didn’t know what exactly and he really didn’t want to find out at the moment either.

With a long-suffering sigh, Malfoy scooted closer. “Fine, since you look as though I’ve bloody kicked the damn thing, I suppose I can give it a try.” He then extended his hand and gave Buddy a cursory scratch about the ears.

“Not so bad, right?” Harry said, smiling a little.

“I suppose he is a bit cute,” Malfoy answered, and his lips quirked up into a soft smile of his own, as he continued petting Buddy, who was clearly loving the attention. “So eager and earnest.”

“He just wants a little love.”

Malfoy looked up at him. “Only a little?”

Something in Harry’s chest twinged as he met Malfoy’s gaze. “Maybe more than a little.”


	8. A Sugar High is a Better High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8 of 25 - in which Ron bakes biscuits and Harry's got some feels he needs to confront.

The way Harry saw it and later explained it to Ron was that if Malfoy had neither a personality transplant nor been cursed and was truly just being _free_ , then it stood to reason that Malfoy was befriendable. The problem, though, was that befriending Draco Malfoy was probably going to be a project in and of itself, and Harry had more than enough to do, what with hanging about at Wheezes, hanging about at GoldTech and hanging about at Neville’s nursery. He really just didn’t have the time to put in now, but it was entirely possible he could revisit the idea in the new year.

“So what did Malfoy do to make you lose your nerve?” Ron asked, as he bit the head off a gingerbread man he’d baked.

Harry took a Christmas tree-shaped biscuit for himself and bit into it to avoid answering right away. Ron wasn’t right, after all. He hadn’t lost his nerve or anything else for that matter. It was just that he needed time to craft a foolproof plan. He swallowed his bite and said as much.

“Since when do you plan for anything? You’re the ‘rushing in head first’ sort and always have been!” Ron exclaimed.

Ron did rather have a point. “I don’t know,” Harry then said, hedging. “I mean, it’s Malfoy, isn’t it? It’s got to be handled delicately.”

Ron rolled his eyes and polished off the rest of the gingerbread man, before picking up a holly-shaped biscuit. “You know, part of me thinks you never should have quit the Aurors. You’ve...well, never mind.”

“No, what?” Harry asked. “You’ve got something to say?”

“No, forget I said anything,” Ron answered, shaking his head.

“No, Ron, say it,” Harry insisted.

Ron sighed gently, set down his biscuit and then turned to Harry with such a serious expression that Harry subconsciously straightened up and leaned in a bit. “It’s just that the last few years, it seems like you’re...well, you know, drifting. Don’t get me wrong, it’s great having you around the shop all the time, but, well...don’t you ever miss the adventure? Even a little bit?”

Harry narrowed his eyes. They _had_ had this discussion before, and it got less and less cute every time. “I really don’t miss nearly being killed every day of my life, R--”

“--I’m not saying that. I don’t mean that part. I just mean…” Ron shrugged. “I mean, don’t you miss the passion? You had passion back then, and I know you still do somewhere. I think you just need to find it again.”

Harry really wanted to argue, but he couldn't deny that Ron might have been on to something. “And what makes you think Malfoy is the key to finding my passion?”

Ron laughed brightly at that. “Because I bloody well know you, mate,” he answered.

Harry decided he had some serious thinking to do--and, well, perhaps he could do some of his daily hanging about at the art studio...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Return to LJ](http://slythindor100.livejournal.com/1103789.html)


	9. Looks Like Pine, Feels Like Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 9 of 25 - in which there is Malfoy Manor, dun dun dun, and Draco is a renegade!

Harry had intended to begin his hanging about the art studio project with a little less of a bang, but when he’d arrived and found Malfoy shrinking down a massive aluminum Christmas tree he’d built, Harry figured he was in for an adventure, which was apparently what he needed, according to everyone he knew. And yet--

“You’re bringing this to the Manor?”

“Obviously,” Malfoy answered, even though it wasn’t. “Mum’ll love it, Father’ll lay an egg and it’ll be great. Have you seen the Manor at holiday-time?”

Harry could categorically say that he hadn't and really had no desire to go back there again.

Malfoy just rolled his eyes. “Come on, Potty. I won’t make you go inside. We’re just going to deposit the tree, maybe take a run through the peacocks and then we’ll be back at the studio in no time.”

“I will deposit the tree, but there will be no peacock-running,” Harry conceded.

The grin that Malfoy rewarded him with was almost enough to make Harry change his mind about taking a jaunt through the vicious birds. “Brilliant, shall we?” Malfoy said and Harry tried to remember how to breathe, as Malfoy sidled up closer than was strictly necessary for Side-Along Apparition.

They arrived just outside the gates of Malfoy Manor, and after taking a moment to recover his disorientation from the long-distance leap (and that was all it was because the fact that Malfoy was still pressed in close and smelled a little bit like a biscuit, all cinnamony and vanilla-y was not playing merry hell with Harry’s insides _at all_ ), Harry glanced around to see that, well, the Manor at holiday-time was indeed something to behold.

The grounds beyond the gates were snow-covered, and the Manor itself seemed to shine in the sunlight from frosted windowpanes. Garlands of pine and holly-berries decorated every awning and poinsettias and Christmas roses bloomed all over the preserved gardens. It was gorgeous and natural--and Malfoy wanted to put up a fake tree that he’d built.

“Have you always been this eccentric?” Harry asked, as Malfoy opened the gates and tugged Harry forward along the path.

“There’s always been a bit of rebel in me, Potter,” Malfoy answered. “It was just buried under layers of cowardice.”

Harry frowned at that. “You’re not a coward.”

“Not anymore, anyway,” Malfoy replied. “Now help me unshrink it. I think it should go over there.” He indicated a spot almost directly in front of the doorway, so no one would miss it.

Together, they unshrunk Malfoy’s tree and levitated it into place on the lawn. Although to be fair, Harry did a bit more ‘Malfoy-watching’ than ‘levitating’... The joy radiating from Malfoy was infectious, and Harry realized his own smile was so big that his cheeks hurt. Having fun with Malfoy might not have been something he’d ever thought possible, but now that it was happening, he didn’t want it to end.

Until a snowball zoomed forward and hit him in the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Return to LJ!](http://slythindor100.livejournal.com/1108670.html)


	10. This Evening Has Been So Very Nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 10 of 25 - in which Harry and Draco snuggle a bit. Wholly unintentionally and while fighting, of course. Chapter title is a lyric from Baby, It’s Cold Outside, which I also also do not own.

One snowball to the face quickly became a barrage, and suddenly, Harry found himself tackling Malfoy to the ground. They rolled over other until Harry managed to pin Malfoy down by straddling his hips. He gathered up an armful of snow, not even bothering to pack it, and held it over Malfoy’s face.

“Any last words?” Harry asked, grinning widely as Malfoy squirmed beneath him.

“I’m bloody freezing!” he said, his teeth chattering. It would have been cruel to drop the snow, and Harry knew it, but the Slytherin prat took full advantage of Harry’s moment of indecision and thrust his hips up just enough to unsettle Harry from his lap. He rolled them over again and straddled Harry’s hips this time, a triumphant expression on his face. “You’ve lost your touch, Potty,” Draco added, but his tone was far more fond than Harry was used to. 

He thought he could probably get used to it. “Alright, I surrender,” Harry said, giving a thrust of his own to try and unseat Draco. It was exactly then that he realized the precariousness of their positions and, despite the cold weather, his entire body was suddenly warmed.

Draco grinned like the cat that got the cream and took his sweet time climbing off, before extending a hand to help Harry up. 

Unsure why his body was reacting the way it was, except that it was clearly confused, Harry counted to ten in his head and tried to think of Augusta Longbottom in a bikini. He then took Draco’s hand, got to his feet and brushed himself off a bit. “D’you want to go get a chocolate or something? I’m bloody freezing.”

“Now what did I tell you about falling in love with me?” Draco asked, as he got out his wand and cast a Warming Charm over the pair of them.

“I’m doing no such thing,” Harry insisted, praying that the blush he was certain he had would be interpreted as being cold and covered in snow rather than anything else.

“Because even though I know all the stories and all the fairytales, I hate to break it to you, Potty, but L-O-V-E love,” Draco said, “doesn’t exist. So if you start falling for me, which you clearly are because I’m utterly amazing and handsome and charming--”

“--and modest--”

“--and modest,” Draco continued, “yes, thank you, all those things, you had better stop.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Draco Malfoy, I promise not to fall in love with you. Now can we go get a chocolate before I freeze to death?”

“Oh look,” Draco said, ignoring him and reaching out to pluck Harry’s glasses from his face. “There’s frost on your glasses. Look how beautiful!” He held them up to the light, and the frost glittered. He turned to Harry with a smile again. “See?”

“You should paint it,” Harry said softly, wondering suddenly when Draco became _Draco_ in his head.

Draco looked up at the frosty glasses again. “I think I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Return to LJ!](http://slythindor100.livejournal.com/1114008.html)


	11. Even Brushstrokes, Odd Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch.11 of 25 - in which Harry realizes he might have a bit of a problem here. Dean also quotes The Princess Bride in this chapter, and I definitely don’t own that.

The cup of chocolate warmed Harry’s hands, and the studio was bright and warm as well, but he was certain the warm feeling in his chest had nothing to do with the temperature. He and Draco sat on a sofa in the workspace, watching Dean put the finishing touches on a beautiful painting of a pair of wolves--one white and one black, standing together in the snow.

“It’s looking gorgeous, Thomas,” Draco called out and then bumped Harry’s shoulder with his own. “He’s a bit of a traditionalist, but he’s brilliant all the same, isn’t he?”

“Am not,” Dean answered, never taking his eyes off his work. “Just because I don’t like to build mad creations and flop around in paint doesn’t make me a traditionalist.”

Draco nudged Harry again and rolled his eyes. “My creations aren’t mad, they’re brilliant, and you know it.”

“You keep using that word...I don’t think it means what you think it means,” Dean answered, laughing.

“When did all this happen?” Harry asked, slightly baffled by the playfulness in Draco and Dean’s rapport. “You and Dean, I mean.”

“Malfoy’s apology tour, 2003,” Dean called over his shoulder.

“Your what?” Harry turned to Draco, only to find Draco staring thoughtfully right back at him. Harry quickly looked away, unnerved.

“It was right after my community service was done. I sort of went round apologizing to the people I’d wronged,” Draco then explained, a smirk on his lips. “It was torture, but I felt pretty good afterwards.”

“You never apologized to me,” Harry said, not sure exactly how he felt about his omission.

Draco shrugged at that. “You saved my life and spoke for me at my trial. I thought that meant you’d already forgiven me. But if it helps, Potty, I’m terribly sorry for being a complete prat for most of our young adult lives together,” he answered, sounding not sorry at all. “Even though you mostly deserved it for being a bit of a git yourself.”

“I was only a git because you were a bully!” Harry replied.

“What a cycle we were in,” Draco replied, his tone going just wistful enough that Harry decided to change the subject again.

“The wolves are really nice, Dean,” Harry said. “They sort of look, well--”

“--like they’re in love? Good, because that’s what I was going for,” Dean answered, setting down his brush and turning to the sofa.

“Bloody hell, here he goes again,” Draco said, rising quickly from the seat and striding over to his own workspace. “You’re obsessed, Thomas.”

Dean took the vacant seat and slung his arm over the back of the sofa. “And I’ll never understand how someone who calls himself an artist can’t manage to accept the most beautiful and artistic human emotion that exists,” he said quietly.

Harry followed Dean’s gaze across the room and watched quietly as Draco got out a large hunk of clay. He felt suddenly cold, and he really didn’t want to think about why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Return to LJ!](http://slythindor100.livejournal.com/1119365.html)


	12. Put A Marshmallow In It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch.12 of 25 - in which Hermione’s back everybody! She’ll fix things, don’t worry. (But also Anthony is back too and, well, yes.)

“How many marshmallows?” Hermione asked, as she poured out a hot chocolate for the pair of them. “And honestly, I imagine this would be much easier to deal with if you weren’t in love with him, but as it stands, I think you may need to let this thing with Malfoy go.”

“I’m not in love with him, that’s ridiculous,” Harry insisted, trying to ignore the sudden tight feeling in his chest. “I’m just saying it’s concerning he’s so dead-set against the idea of love. How is he ever going to be happy?”

“From what you’ve told me, he _is_ happy, Harry,” Hermione replied, as she added two more marshmallows and then slid the drink over to him. “He seemed perfectly happy when he dropped off that wreath.”

Harry let out a frustrated groan. “Fine, he’s happy, okay? He’s happy and _free_ as he keeps reminding me and he’s an artist, and we’re having all this fun together, which is weird and unsettling because it’s Malfoy, and Malfoy’s a selfish bastard and a complete git, and an amazing friend somehow and really great, and it kind of makes me wonder how different things might have been if I’d shaken his hand all those years ago, which is something else entirely, I know, but I can’t help but wonder, you know? But he then thinks love isn’t real, and that’s just ridiculous because it’s _love_! It’s not, I don’t know, Santa Claus! It’s not imaginary! It’s real, love is real, and I feel it every single bloody day, and oh, bugger--” He cut himself off mid-rant and quickly took a drink in the hopes that Hermione wouldn’t notice what he’d said.

But of course she noticed because she was the brightest witch of their age, as well as being his best friend in the world. “So convince him then,” Hermione said simply, a soft smile playing at her lips. “Convince him it’s real. If anybody can do that, it’s you.”

“Convince who of what?”

Harry turned in his chair to see Anthony striding forward into the room. He had a bright smile on his face and took a seat next to Harry (even though there was an entire table’s worth of chairs he could have taken instead. “Er, nothing,” Harry answered. “Forget I said anything.”

Anthony shrugged. “Well, I’m glad you stopped by, Harry. I wanted to ask if you might want to come to the GoldTech holiday party tomorrow night?”

“Oh yeah, Hermione had mentioned--”

“--great!” Anthony interrupted. He turned on the charming smile again and reached out a hand to rest on Harry’s shoulder. “It’s a date.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open in surprise, but he couldn’t find any words before Anthony got up again and headed out the door with a cheery ‘see you later’.

“That might put a bit of a damper on your plan,” Hermione said thoughtfully. She gave a sympathetic smile and then took a sip of her own hot chocolate. “Mmph,” she said, “needs cinnamon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Return to LJ!](http://slythindor100.livejournal.com/1124070.html)


	13. I Don't Know What To Do With This Information

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 13 of 25 - in which Harry makes a choice. I'm so behind! I'll have three for you all today. :)

Harry made his way down Diagon Alley towards the Leaky, intending to go home and hide from the world for a bit, but as he passed Ollivander’s, he glanced in and saw Dean. A smile came to his face, and he decided that hiding could wait for a bit.

The bell jangled merrily as Harry stepped through the door, and Dean turned around and gave him a wave hello. Mr. Ollivander was nowhere in sight. “Where’s Garrick?” Harry asked.

“Stepped in back to bring up the rest of these,” Dean said, indicating a stack of wand boxes. “Malfoy’s latest project. He’s building a fireplace or something, I don’t know. I’ve stopped trying to figure him out.”

Harry tried to ignore the sudden warm feeling inside him at even the mention of Draco’s name, then remembered that he’d just agreed to a date with Tony Goldstein and frowned. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go on a date with Tony as such, but rather that, well, frankly there was someone else he’d rather spend his time with at a holiday party for a company he didn’t even work for. “Draco couldn’t come get them himself?” Harry then asked, tone light.

Dean turned and smirked at him. “Miss him already, do you?”

“No! I just--” Harry broke off, embarrassed, then quickly recovered himself. “I just mean, how lazy can a bloke be? I know he doesn’t have his class until this afternoon, and he’s nearly finished with his set-up for the installation, so what the hell else could he be up to?”

Dean regarded him carefully for a moment, a calculating look on his face. “Right...sure. Well, Malfoy asked me to pick them up for him. He’s still not...he’s not totally comfortable coming in here, even after the apology tour,” Dean answered, as he continued to shrink the empty wand boxes and place them in the bag.

“And here I thought he was ‘free from fear’ or whatever,” Harry said, aiming for joking and failing miserably even to his own ears.

Dean shrugged. “He’s full of shit. Not all the time, mind, but definitely sometimes. But I suppose we all are, a little bit.”

“Oh,” Harry said, uselessly. “Well, er, do you need a hand bringing them back to the studio?”

“Do you really need to make up an excuse at this point? Come on, Harry!” Dean laughed.

“And here we are my dear boy, another twenty empty box--Mr. Potter! What a pleasant surprise to see you,” said Mr. Ollivander, as he came up from the backroom.

“Nice to see you too, sir,” Harry replied, suddenly aware that it had been ages since he’d visited his friend. Honestly, he really had disappeared into his own life over the last few years, and he was really great with the lame excuses…

“Say hello to young Mister Malfoy for me, would you?” Ollivander added.

“Will do,” Harry said, before turning to Dean. “No excuses. I’m just going to see him.”


	14. Those Things Are Poisonous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 14 of 25 - in which there is a realization and a hint of delicious jealousy.

There was no getting around it: Harry was hopelessly attracted to and possibly in love with Draco Malfoy, and it was deeply unfair that he had to stand there watching Draco be fit and oddly charming, without being able to confess his feelings. Though Harry had always been the sort of person to charge in and let his feelings be paramount to whatever else was happening in his life, he had never before run into a situation where a person for whom he had feelings not only didn’t reciprocate them, but flat-out didn’t think such things existed.

There had been Cho, who was his first crush, who had broken his heart, but really only a little.

There had been Ginny, who was his first love, whose heart he had broken when that intense, passionate love had dulled in the aftermath of the war, but whose friendship was so dear to him that he’d never totally been able to let her go.

There had been a series of short-lived flings with women for whom he cared a great deal because he always cared a great deal, but had ultimately been just place-holders for the kind of love he’d always wanted. (Susan, Christine, Elizabeth, Morag, Angelica...)

There had been Mark, who was his first experiment, although he hated to use the word ‘experiment’ because it wasn’t clinical between them, but passionate and intense and fulfilling in a way he’d never experienced before, and who ultimately left him because the pressure of being Harry Potter’s first boyfriend was too much to take.

And finally there had been Alfie, who Harry had loved, but who hadn’t loved him back and had convinced Harry that perhaps it really was better to be alone than to settle down with someone who didn’t feel the same.

But now there was Draco--Draco who made Harry feel flustered and warm and excited and happy and any hundred number of things at the same time--and Harry didn’t want to let that go, no matter how discouraging Draco was.

And yet, here he was at a party, watching Draco float through the room like he owned the damn place, unable to do anything about it because Anthony Goldstein wouldn’t Harry out of his sight.

“Harry, how do you like my pin?” Anthony said, drawing Harry from his thoughts and dragging his attention away from where Draco was _obviously flirting_ with one of Hermione’s many interns.

It was a beautiful, glittery poinsettia that made Harry’s heart clench because it was exactly what Draco had been working on when Harry and Dean had arrived back at the studio with the boxes from Ollivander’s. “It’s really nice, Tony,” Harry then said, as politely as possible.

“Malfoy made them for us.” He chuckled then. “He’s something else, isn’t he?”

Harry nodded. “Something pretty amazing,” he then said, quietly, almost to himself.

“What was that?” Anthony raised an eyebrow and then glanced across the room at Malfoy too.

“Nothing,” Harry said, with a sigh.


	15. EVERYBODY, ShotsShotsShotsShots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 15 of 25 - in which, everybody drinks, and there’s definitely jealousy! Chapter title in the style of Messrs. LMFAO and Lil’ Jon, Esq. which I don't own.

Taking advantage of the fortuitous arrival of Anthony’s parents, Harry slipped away and walked quickly across the room, where he found Draco pinning one of his poinsettias on the stupidly handsome intern’s lapel. “Oh, hello, Potty,” Draco greeted. “Care for a pin?”

“I’d rather a drink,” Harry replied, before grabbing a pair of green and red cocktails from a passing server’s tray. He handed one to Draco and then deliberately raised an eyebrow in a pale imitation of Draco’s favored disdainful look, until the poor intern realized he was no longer needed and scurried away towards the table where the rest of them had gathered.

“Thanks ever so, Potter,” Draco asked, as he clinked his glass against Harry’s own and then lifted it to his lips. “You owe me a shag now.”

Harry coughed and spluttered around a mouthful of his too-fruity cocktail, barely managing not to spit it all out over Draco’s expensive-looking dress robes. “I--you--er--what?” he managed to choke out.

Draco regarded him with cool amusement and took his sweet time in replying, “I said that now you owe me a shag.” He took another sip from his drink, and Harry’s eyes widened, when Draco shamelessly ran his tongue over his lips to catch any stray bits of drink he had missed. “You chased off that very attractive and very willing young man,” Draco then continued, “and so you’re either going to have to get him back for me or find me a new shag. If you don’t, that’s seven years bad-shag-luck for you, and I think you’ve rather suffered enough.”

Harry chugged the rest of his drink and reached out for another from a second passing server, suddenly all nerves and gnawing jealousy. He didn’t want to shag Draco though. Well no, he very much did want to shag Draco, but that wasn’t the only thing he wanted, and he knew that Draco was kind of the sort to shag and leave, and that was exactly what Harry _didn’t_ want, and bloody hell, why did everything in his life have to be such a damn ordeal?

And then, as if on cue, carrying his own holiday cocktail and looking suave and predatory in a way that gave Harry pause, Anthony came to stand at Harry’s side and slipped an arm around Harry’s waist, subtle as you please.

Draco’s eyes flickered down to Anthony’s arm and then back up again to regard Harry with interest. “Well, isn’t this something?”

“Hello Malfoy,” Anthony greeted, grinning widely and clearly oblivious of the fact that he was keenly unwanted. “What are you doing here?” 

“Harry had invited me,” Draco replied evenly. 

“Oh, fantastic! You know, everyone’s been gushing over the wreath you made us. I had meant to thank you!”

“You’re quite welcome, Tony. If there’s one thing I love to share, it’s my art,” Draco said, eyes flicking to Harry.

Harry was quite certain of only one thing: he was going to need another drink...or four.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Return to LJ!](http://slythindor100.livejournal.com/1139481.html)


	16. It's All Around Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 16 of 25 - in which shit gets real.

Through the haze of alcohol and confusion, Harry couldn’t tell if he was enjoying himself or not. Hermione was perched on Ron’s lap, conspicuously not drinking anything stronger than ginger ale, and Ron was grinning so broadly his face looked like it might have hurt, which gave Harry the impression that at the very least his friends were having a great time and possibly that things were going to change drastically in the new year. Hermione and Anthony’s co-workers were boisterous and exuberant, dancing and drinking and probably making decisions they would later regret. And Draco stood at the refreshments table, arranging something and bopping his head in time to the beat.

“Harry, did you want another drink?” Anthony asked, as a server came by and offered.

“Nah, think I’m good,” Harry replied, never taking his eyes off Draco. Why did Draco always have to look so damn good? Why did he always have to look so comfortable even when he was alone? Was that really what it meant to be free? To just always look stupidly sexy, and constantly make Harry laugh even at things he once might have found deeply offensive, and make mad-brilliant artistic creations, and give tiny adorable dogs a chance, and--

“So you really are pretty deeply infatuated with Malfoy, huh.” It wasn’t a question, and Harry turned, mortified that he’d been speaking aloud, to see Anthony regarding him with a resigned look on his face. “I suppose I should have known it was too good to be true that you’d accept a date with me.”

“To be fair, you did sort of ambush me into it,” Harry replied, and inwardly curse his inability to lie, especially when intoxicated.

Anthony chuckled. “I figured it was my only shot. Sort of a bold, Gryffindor approach.” He sighed gently then and laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder to squeeze it gently. “All I can say about Malfoy is to be careful. Don’t let him break your heart,” he continued. “It’s rather a nice heart, and I’d hate to see it damaged beyond repair.”

“You’re all right, Tony,” Harry said, trying to fight against the wide grin that wanted to settle on his lips.

“I do try,” Anthony replied, with a laugh. “So go on then. I release you as my date!”

Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He got up, wavered only slightly under the heady feel of intoxication, marched across the room to the refreshments table and tapped Draco on the shoulder. “Draco, I--”

“--take a look at what I’ve made here, Potty,” Draco interrupted, indicating the table. He had taken all the candy-canes from the bowl, unwrapped them and twisted them about until they spelled out the word ‘love’. It was adorable, and Harry realized that he’d had more than enough of Draco’s teasing. “Clever, aren’t I?” Draco added, turning to Harry with a grin.

“Very clever,” Harry agreed. “Extremely clever, in fact.” He then leaned in and pressed his lips to Draco’s own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Return to Livejournal!](http://slythindor100.livejournal.com/1144112.html)


	17. Go Home, You're Drunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 17 of 25 - in which to be honest, I’m not sure where this came from, but I thought it was funny so I went with it. Angsty too though.

Kissing Draco Malfoy, Harry thought, should have been a revelation. It should have been a momentous, earth-shaking occasion. It should have been a harps-playing, choir-singing, crowds-cheering moment of pure, unadulterated beauty. It should have blown every kiss he’d ever kissed out of the water with its soul-melting, exquisite awesomeness.

Instead, Harry was passably certain he was going to vomit.

No, in fact, he was absolutely, without a doubt, no question about it _certain_ he was going to vomit.

Harry pushed back quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly as the rolling in his stomach would attest, and brought his hand up to his mouth. “Bollocks,” he murmured, around his hand.

“Easy there, Potty,” Draco said, reaching out a steadying arm. “You’ll be all right, you daft thing.” Draco led him over to a table out of the way and pushed him gently into the seat. “Deep breaths in and out, slowly. I’ll get you some water. It’ll pass in a few minutes.”

He turned out to be right--moments later, when Draco returned to the table with a large cup of water for Harry and a mulled wine for himself, Harry’s nausea had dissipated fully. Which was...suspicious to say the least.

“What did you--” Harry broke off, embarrassed and, frankly, still drunk. “Why did I--”

“--you make me sick,” Draco interrupted, grey eyes dark and intense.

Harry’s heart sank. “I...oh God, Dra--Malfoy, I’m sorry, I didn’t, er…” he trailed off, as Draco’s expression went from confused to amused in seconds. Draco started to laugh, and then it was Harry’s turned to be confused (as well as still very embarrassed and suddenly rather sad too).

“No, Potty, _U Make Me Sick_. The Wheeze? I’m wearing it,” Draco explained, before taking a sip of his wine.

Realization dawned, and Harry found himself even more mortified than before, if such a thing was possible. _U Make Me Sick_ was a lip balm that Ron had invented which caused intense feelings of nausea to the other party in a snog. It was a hilarious gag gift...and Draco must have been wearing it. “Oh,” Harry then said. He reached for his water and chugged the entire glass in one.

“I never suspected you’d try to accost me in front of your colleagues,” Draco continued. “Still, the next time you think it’s a brilliant idea to snog me, why don’t you make sure you’re not rat-arsed?”

With that, Draco stood up, straightened his robes and, stiff-backed and proud, walked through the party and out the door. Harry followed him with his eyes, and once Draco left, took a look around the room to see that people were talking in whispers and pointing at him. “Well, that’s not new,” Harry said to himself, bitterly.

He then picked up Draco’s mulled wine and brought it to his own lips. He wasn’t rat-arsed at all, but he damn sure was going to be. Because he had no idea what went wrong--and he felt absolutely miserable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Return to Livejournal!](http://slythindor100.livejournal.com/1150388.html)


	18. I Like Your Balls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 18 of 25 - in which Harry mopes a bit, then gets his shit together. Because Harry never gives up without a fight.

“Wake up, Harry!”

Harry had never noticed before just how chirpy and annoying Hermione’s voice was, but as she flung open the drapes in his bedroom, letting the pale and yet still somehow too bright winter sunlight in, he decided that she was the most annoying person he’d ever met, and also he hated her a little bit. “Goway,” he moaned and burrowed further into his pillow, hiding from both the light and her.

“I will do no such thing until you get out of this bed and face the day,” Hermione continued, and if it was possible, got more annoying by sing-songing her words.

“Nope, I’m dead. For real this time, so you can just be on your way because I won’t be coming back.”

Hermione grabbed the pillow and flung it across the room, to which Harry let out a long, frustrated groan. “You would do well to stop exaggerating. Unless you really are that hungover, in which case, it’s entirely your own fault. Don’t you know you’re not supposed to imbibe too much at these holiday parties? It brings nothing but trouble if you do, and I saw you with Tony, downing cocktail after cock--”

“--Hermione,” Harry interrupted, “if you promise to stop talking, I will get up!”

“Suit yourself,” she replied, with a grin.

Sitting up, though, caused a wave of nausea to roll through him, which in turn reminded him of the disastrous turn the party had taken, which only made Harry want to lie back down and hide under the pillows again. Harry sighed gently and took the vial of what he assumed was Sobriety Potion from Hermione’s proffered hand. “I made a complete arse of myself yesterday, didn’t I?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“It wasn’t as bad as you might think...although, I think most of us could have done without seeing you shirtless and shouting along to The Cauldron Boys,” she answered, not even bothering to hide her amusement.

“Bollocks.” The Sobriety Potion tasted like rubbish, but after a few moments, it worked its magic, vanishing the churning in his stomach and pounding in his head. If only it could have fixed the clench in his heart. “Hermione, I...er, about Draco…” he trailed off, uncertain how to proceed.

“Hmm, yes, about _Draco_ ,” she repeated and handed him a square envelope.

Warily, Harry took it and opened the envelope to find a hand-painted Christmas card. Several ornaments hung down, and the outer message read _I like your balls_. Harry bit down on his lower lip, trying to quell his amusement, but there was nothing for it when he opened the card to read the inscription inside:

_Dearest Potty,_

_Happy Christmas, berk. I’d better see you at my installation like you promised._

_Piss off,_

_Malfoy_

So it seemed that Malfoy wasn’t entirely angry with him for the botched kiss at the party.

“Well?” asked Hermione.

Harry looked up and replied, determinedly, “I’m going to go see a man about a kiss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Return to Livejournal!](http://slythindor100.livejournal.com/1154947.html)


	19. Rapidly Approaching the Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 19 of 25 - in which Harry arrives, but his mission is briefly derailed.

The art studio was crowded--far more crowded than Harry would have liked, considering the last time he attempted a grand gesture, it had been a complete disaster witnessed by entirely too many people, but he paid it no mind. His life had always been in the public eye, and what was one more scandal under his belt?

He pushed through as best he could and made his way into the gallery space proper. Dean stood near one of Draco’s giant wreaths, speaking animatedly with a few patrons, but Draco was nowhere to be scene. Odd, that he wouldn’t be around to receive all the attention to which he was, for once, actually entitled. But Harry brushed it aside, determined to find the man and figure out what was between them once and for all. Because it was _something_ , damnit, whether Draco wanted to believe it or not.

“Oi, Harry!” a familiar voice called from behind him near the refreshments table.

Harry turned to see Ron jogging up to meet him. “What are you doing here?” Harry asked.

“Came to see the art, obviously,” Ron replied, with a shrug. “Also Dean said they’d have a great spread.”

“Weaselbee, only you would come to an art gallery in search of _food_.”

Harry’s heart clenched and his stomach swooped, as he turned around again to see Draco standing there, all insouciant posture and with a champagne flute dangling from his fingers. He had a wry smile on his face though, and his tone was teasing rather than mocking--a subtle difference, but one that Harry recognized was incredibly important.

Ron rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, I’m here, aren’t I?” he grumbled, and again, it was more good-natured than anything else. Harry smiled to see it.

“Try the mince pies,” Draco said, gesturing with his flute. “Thomas’s sister baked them, and they’re divine. Did the whole thing the Muggle way, too.”

Ron scooped up a few mince pies onto a plate, then loaded it with other assorted treats. “Harry, there’s this one painting over by the door,” he said, pausing briefly to pop a miniature tart into his mouth. “Looks a little bit like you and Malfoy.”

“It does?” Harry asked.

Draco nodded, a strange smile playing at his lips. “Thomas thinks he’s so bloody slick, painting me behind my back,” he said.

“Oh,” Harry replied, suddenly feeling quite exposed, even though he had no idea what the supposed painting looked like. To buy himself a bit of time, he took one of the mince pies from Ron’s plate and had a bite.

“You should have a look when you’re done,” Draco said, significantly.

Harry swallowed hard around his suddenly dry mouth. “I actually had wanted to talk to you--”

“--I need to get back to my adoring public,” he interrupted airily, though the intensity in his eyes never wavered. “Come and find me later.”

“I will,” Harry promised. “So, you know, don’t disappear on me or anything.”

Draco smiled again. “I won’t.”


	20. Have A Cool Yule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 20 of 25 - in which it’s MUCH better this time.

“Well, go on. Don’t wait around here on my account,” said Ron, catching Harry’s attention from where it had drifted across the room. “It’s actually a really good likeness of the two of you.”

“Oh, right, er, yes,” Harry said distractedly, putting his plate down on the refreshments table. All the momentum he’d built up that morning seemed to be draining away, and it was incredibly discouraging. But he wasn’t going to let it dissipate. He had a mission when he came here, and he was going to fulfil it, come hell or high water. No more distractions, no more losing his nerve. He was going to tell Draco how he felt, and that was that.

And if Draco didn’t feel the same, well...at least Harry had tried.

“Or, you know, you could just go find Malfoy again because that’s clearly what you really want to do,” Ron added.

“You’re right,” Harry said, straightening up a bit. “You’re right, I am going over there!”

“Good luck!” Ron called, as Harry began a determined march across the gallery space, moving around patrons and stepping around art projects. He neatly side-stepped a pair of teenaged girls who looked torn between fainting at the sight of him and tearing bits of his cloak off and artfully dodged someone who looked suspiciously like Lucius Malfoy in a not-so-clever disguise.

Finally, he found Draco standing next to one of his smaller pieces, an artfully-decorated Yule log that he’d created entirely out of gingerbread and cinnamon sticks and reinforced with edible paste. It smelled delicious, and Harry had no idea how it was art, but he didn’t care because Draco looked totally in his element explaining his art to the small, but eagerly listening crowd.

“It’s really about the juxtaposition of old world and new world traditions,” Draco was saying, though his eyes now locked on Harry’s own. “You can give up old ideals, but still hold on to traditions. That sort of thing.”

Harry pushed through the group and stepped up close.

Draco smirked at him. “Did you have a question, Potty?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.” Harry tugged Draco close and wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist. “You’re not wearing that stuff again, are you?” he whispered.

Draco chuckled lightly. “No, I’m not.”

“That’s good,” Harry replied, smiling. “That’s really, really good.” And then he leaned in and pressed his lips to Draco’s own.

This time, it _was_ a momentous, earth-shaking occasion. It _was_ a harps-playing, choir-singing, crowds-cheering moment of pure, unadulterated beauty. It _did_ blow every kiss he’d ever kissed out of the water with its soul-melting, exquisite awesomeness.

Kissing Draco Malfoy was something Harry honestly had no idea he’d needed in his life, but now that he was experiencing it, he was certain he never wanted to let it go.

But the sudden oohing, squealing and applause broke Harry’s concentration, and as he pulled back, Draco laughed at him, softly, teasing. “Oh, Potty, you are such a Gryffindor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Return to Livejournal!](http://slythindor100.livejournal.com/1173906.html)


	21. Here's To Those Who Wish Us Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 21 of 25 - in which Dean helps to clarify things a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the major delay, but I do very much intend on finishing this story over the next couple of days. :) Happy hols!

It was very difficult not to touch Draco, Harry discovered, now that he had permission to touch Draco whenever he pleased. Although they hadn’t really talked about what it meant, and Draco had shooed him away so he could continue schmoozing the people who’d come to see his and Dean’s art, and Harry knew he was making a lot of assumptions, but he didn’t care because Draco had kissed him back and that was really all that mattered at the moment. 

He walked through the rest of the exhibits almost in a daze, with a bright smile on his face and the memory of Draco’s lips against his own in his head. It was like he’d swallowed some flutterbys that decided to fly around his insides, but in the most wonderful way possible. He loved the feeling, and he never wanted to let it go.

“You’re the talk of the gallery,” came Dean’s amused voice from behind Harry. He turned around, and his friend was stood next to the wolf painting that he’d been finishing a few weeks earlier. “Can’t say I’m surprised though. You’re always the talk of something, Harry.”

Harry rolled his eyes, too full of feeling to actually be annoyed, then grinned. “I’m sorry I took the attention away from your work,” he said genuinely.

“Are you taking the piss?” Dean handed Harry a glass of champagne and picked up one for himself. “The amount of people in here doubled about five minutes after you walked through the door earlier. Not, of course,” he said, chuckling a little, “that I’d ever dream of using you or anything like that.”

“Hey, I’m happy to help my friends. Especially when they’ve helped me,” Harry replied, his tone growing ever so slightly wistful in the remembrance of all that Dean had done for him over the last few weeks. Dean, and Ron and Hermione and even Tony who had been far more gracious than Harry himself might have been if their positions were reversed. They had all been there for him, pushing him toward something that he hadn’t even really realized he needed. And that it had been Draco Malfoy, well...as unexpected as it might have been, Harry also thought it might have been a little bit inevitable. Draco had always been important to his life, to him, and even though he’d gone a long time without seeing the man in person, he’d always be there on the periphery of Harry’s life. Waiting, perhaps.

“To friendship,” Dean said, pulling Harry from his thoughtful turn, and raised his glass.

“Cheers!” Harry replied and clinked his glass against Dean’s.

“Oh, so you found it then, yeah?” Ron asked, as he came up and nudged Harry’s shoulder. “The one of you and Malfoy.”

“What do you me--” Harry cut himself off abruptly, as he watched the wolves slowly morph into incredible likenesses of himself and Draco. “Oh, wow,” he whispered.

Dean just grinned to himself. “I am rather proud of this one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Return to [Livejournal](http://slythindor100.livejournal.com/1188754.html)


	22. Here's The Thing About Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 22 of 25 - in which Harry has a moment of doubt because he can’t just accept that things are awesome.

Harry stood transfixed by Dean’s painting, watching as the handsome forms of the wolves slowly changed into himself and Draco and then back again. It was mesmerizing, and with each shift back and forth, Harry took in a new detail, a new expression or emotion that seemed to come across to him.

“Is that really…” he trailed off, unable to voice what he was feeling. His throat felt tight, but he was smiling so wide his cheeks hurt.

“It’s really, really,” Dean replied, his voice softer now. “You couldn’t expect me to just sit there and watch the two of you falling in love over the last few weeks without trying to capture it.”

“He’s got the soul of an artist,” came Draco’s voice from behind him, curiously softer-toned as well. As if he didn’t want to disturb the moment.

Harry turned to him, trying and failing miserably to ignore the feeling in his chest. He was positively fit to burst from how much feeling was inside of him. He knew, in that very moment, looking at Draco with his white-blond fringe draped artfully to the side and his slate-grey eyes with all their mischievous expression and his amazingly-kissable lips and his artistic and free-spirited way of looking at the world around him, that he loved Draco. When it had happened exactly he couldn’t say, except that he’d grown so ridiculously fond of the git that he’d been willing to make a complete fool of himself in front of everyone just to get a kiss, but he was certain that he felt deeply and intensely for Draco. Draco Malfoy was the one for Harry Potter, and he didn’t care how it had happened--only that it had.

What he didn’t really know, though, was if Draco felt the same. Because Draco’s protests about love being an illusion suddenly sounded in his head, loud and warning. Yes, Draco might have kissed him, but a kiss wasn't love. And just as suddenly, Harry’s heart clenched in a decidedly unpleasant way.

Draco frowned at him and raised an eyebrow. “What are you thinking right now?” he asked, suspicious.

“Nothing...why?”

“Your face just came over all funny,” Draco replied, stepping a bit closer and poking Harry in the stomach. “You’re thinking something awful. What is it?”

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but then sighed instead and turned back to look at the painting. “It’s really nothing. I was just thinking that I can’t believe you let Dean display something so sentimental,” he finally said, forcing a smile.

Draco looked unconvinced and made to reply when the sound of bells drew everyone’s attention. Draco rolled his eyes. “Bugger, I knew I should have put a partition around those,” he said, indicating a set of silver bells across the room. A sheepish-looking patron was trying and failing to stop them ringing.

“Saved by the bell, yeah?” Ron said in Harry’s ear, as Draco dashed back across the room to deal with his art.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Return to Livejournal!](http://slythindor100.livejournal.com/1189606.html)


	23. Get Your Shiitake Mushrooms Together, Potter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 23 of 25 - in which, yet again, Harry remembers he’s got bollocks and is a Gryffindor and gets shit done.

“What do you mea--”

“--I know that look of yours, Potter,” Ron interrupted, somehow managing to look imposing even with a bit of shrimp sauce on his chin. “And you’re second-guessing yourself.”

“When did you become so bloody perceptive,” Harry grumbled defensively.

“Malfoy’s got you by the short hairs...the git,” Ron replied. “A blind man could see it.”

“I guess I just…” he trailed off, as his gaze fell back on Dean’s portrait. Painting Draco looked just as happy as Painting Harry did. “Dean,” Harry then asked, “was that just your imagination, or did you see Draco really look like that?”

Dean laughed and slapped Harry on the back. “I can make something from nothing, Harry, but I promise you that I didn’t this time. Malfoy’s got it bad for you, even if he won’t admit it aloud.” Dean’s eyes then turned mischievous. “After all, hasn’t he always needed a bit of goading from you to do anything?”

Dean had a point there. His and Draco’s history had always been one of antagonism--even now, though it was generally friendly antagonism. Perhaps Draco just needed a little fight. Harry turned to Ron again. “I think I should go get into a fight with Draco,” he said matter-of-factly.

Ron grinned and handed Harry a pair of gingerbread men biscuits. “For sustenance,” he said, with a sharp nod.

Harry laughed. “You are so weird,” he said, before biting the head off one.

Ron nodded solemnly. “I am, a bit. Now get over there and fight Malfoy like old times. And if you need back-up, I’ve still got a killer right hook.” Ron grinned though, and Harry knew he was joking about the more violent bits. (Although, he knew that Ron’s right hook really was as keen as ever…)

“Give him hell!” Dean added, as Harry started off across the gallery to get Draco’s attention again.

The silver bells had long since stopped jingling, but Draco’d gotten himself caught in a conversation with someone who looked very important and very long-winded. Harry decided that he really didn’t have time for that. He wanted to know exactly where he stood, and he was going to get his answer before another excuse presented itself.

“Oh, Potty, you shouldn’t have,” Draco said, before Harry could do anything. Draco took the non-headless gingerbread man from Harry’s hands, broke off a leg and popped it into his mouth.

Harry seized the opening. “I didn’t, actually. Those were both for me,” he replied and grabbed the biscuit right back.

Draco regarded him suspiciously, and the patron quickly begged off the conversation and walked away. “Fine,” Draco drawled, “but I’d watch my sweet intake were I you. You’re getting a bit soft around the mid-section.”

“You wound me,” Harry replied, sarcastically. “Is this what I have to look forward to?”

“I’m always mean to the ones I love.” Draco’s eyes suddenly widened, and his mouth fell open, but nothing further came out.

Harry just grinned. He couldn’t help himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Return to LJ!](http://slythindor100.livejournal.com/1190133.html)


	24. Your Present is My Presence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 24 of 25 - in which all’s well that ends well. Epilogue to follow, cross my heart and hope to cry. :)

“I mean, er, that is to say--”

“--you love me, is what you meant,” Harry interrupted, taking pity on Draco, who was rapidly turning an unbecoming shade of pink in his obvious embarrassment. “You know, that thing you said wasn’t real and didn’t exist and all that obvious rubbish?”

Draco looked away, crossing his arms over his chest, but he was trying very hard not to smile, most likely against his very stubborn will. “It doesn’t, Potty, it was just a, you know, a slip of the tongue. What I meant to say was that you’re much more tolerable than I ever anticipated, and I enjoy spending time with you, but I’m also very mean, so you’ll just have to get used to that.”

Harry stepped forward and gathered Draco to him, letting his hands settle on the curve of Draco’s bum. “I know what I heard, and I’m never going to forget it,” he said, all but whispering it against Draco’s jaw-line before pressing a kiss there as well.

“Your hearing must be as faulty as your eyesight,” Draco murmured, even as he tilted his head up to give Harry better access.

Harry chuckled, low in the back of his throat. “My eyesight actually isn’t all that bad, and my hearing is perfect,” he replied, then pulled back just enough to look Draco in the eyes. They were the same beautiful grey, but the look in them was one of vulnerability. Harry could certainly understand that--being in love could be genuinely terrifying if one wasn’t used to the feeling. He sighed and raised his hand, letting his thumb caress Draco’s cheekbone and sliding down to travel softly across his lips. “Just say it one more time, and I promise I won’t ever make you say it again,” he added quietly.

Draco did smile then, a mischievous, smirking thing that made Harry grin as well. It was funny, really, how handsome Draco really was when he smirked. Harry infinitely preferred it to the sneers he’d always gotten as a child. But that casual little curl of Draco’s lip, combined with the look in his eyes, well...Harry thought that nothing could possibly compare to that.

“Can it count as your Christmas gift?” Draco asked. “I’ll even put on a Father Christmas outfit and make an entire thing of it.”

Harry laughed again. “Yes, if you must. Although you really don’t have to put on the outfit...in fact, I think I’d rather you were wearing even less clothes…”

“Cheeky,” Draco said fondly. He then heaved a rather put-upon sigh, stepped back just out of Harry’s reach and held out his hands. “Love exists, and I know it because I feel it for you. I love you.”

“I love you too, Draco,” Harry replied, taking his hands.

“If you break my heart, I’ll murder you in your sleep.”

“I promise to try very hard not to.”

Draco grinned. “Now for fuck’s sake, would you kiss me already?”

Harry would, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [return to live journal](http://slythindor100.livejournal.com/1191880.html)


	25. A Sleigh Ride Together With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 25 of 25 - in which everything is awesome! An epilogue, one year later.

Living with Draco Malfoy, _Artiste_ was much more complicated than Harry could have ever anticipated--not that he was complaining. Or at least, he wasn’t complaining when Draco slathered him in paint and made him roll around on canvas or spent hours comparing Harry’s arse to sculptures of famous arses, like David or Hermes. He was, however, definitely complaining when Draco woke him up in the middle of the night to drag him out to some _adventure_ he’d concocted.

Draco’s adventures were always displays of public art, and, more often than not, thinly veiled excuses to embarrass Harry. Like, for example, the time Draco had made him stand in the exact center of Diagon Alley, immobilized him with a gentle Stupefy and posed him as Atlas, while Draco himself painted the reactions of the crowd. However, that little stunt wasn’t nearly as embarrassing as the time Draco’d made him emerge from the newly restored Fountain of Magical Brethren on a loop until he’d gotten the exact flow of movement of a single drop of water down Harry’s chest.

Entirely mortifying? Yes. Did Harry agree every time? Absolutely.

“Because I love you,” Harry said, as he reached down to tug the blanket over their legs a bit tighter, before replacing it around Draco’s shoulders.

Draco nestled his head onto Harry’s shoulder. “You do it because you know my ideas are brilliant, and you wish you’d thought of them first,” Draco corrected, with a grin.

They raced along the expansive grounds of Hogwarts in their thestral-drawn sleigh, heading for the war memorial that had been erected several years ago. Draco’d got it into his head to paint a portrait of Harry paying his respects, and while Harry had been unsure at first, it had been impossible to say no when Draco explained that it was going to be donated to a charity auction for the War Orphan Fund. It might have been a little underhanded, a little manipulative perhaps, but if it was going to wrench donations from stingy pockets, Harry didn’t mind doing a bit of manipulating. He supposed the Slytherin bit of him hadn’t been totally extinguished--or perhaps Draco just brought it out of him, the lovable git.

“Aren’t I just so lucky to have a genius like you in my life,” Harry replied, sarcastically.

“Damned straight you are.” Draco turned to him again, slightly more serious. “But really, though, thank you for this. I know it’s, well, you know painful and all, so I really do appreciate you doing it.”

Harry softened, smiling. “Any time, really.”

“And because I’m such a generous person, I’ll owe you one. Whatever you like. Anything you want,” Draco added, the seriousness melting away as easily as it had come.

Harry fingered the ring box in his pocket. “I think I might be able to think of something,” he said quietly.

“Whatever it is, I’ll say yes.”

Harry grinned widely to himself, before turning his head and pressing a kiss to Draco’s temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Return to Livejournal!](http://slythindor100.livejournal.com/1193016.html)


End file.
